About Each Other
by Kavi Leighanna
Summary: There's a lot they don't know about each other, and even more they'd like to learn. Emily/Hotch.
1. Chapter 1

**(Things We Don't Know) About Each Other**

--

This was where she needed to be. This was where she could erase everything she heard or saw. This was where she could pound her body through it's worst paces and come out feeling incredibly _alive._ If she had to ice her entire body afterwards, it would always be worth it.

She sailed through the air, her hands holding her body weight for only a split second before she was on her feet again, only to bounce back into the air. It wasn't the best facility, but they didn't ask questions when she came in, gym clothes in hand, and took to the equipment. They often left the place open late for her use, seeming to sense how important it was for her to do this. Over her years with the BAU, she'd grown to know the staff. They didn't mind, so long as she locked up.

It felt glorious. She couldn't remember when she'd started, all she could remember was that this was where nothing could touch her. Her brain carried her body through the motions without much thought, her mind clear as she allowed the adrenaline and exercise carry her away to a different world, a different time, when the criminals were something she heard about in the news and not the people she chased every day. It had always been her escape, always been the place she needed to keep herself sane. It didn't matter where she was around the world, so long as they had a place for her to do this.

She curved, jumped, twisted, tucked, stopping when she made a mistake to make the pass again or to start from the absolute beginning. She wished she could do others, but that wasn't what she was in the mood for. She had enough danger, she didn't need to balance precariously on four inches of wood, nor did she feel the need for speed or the need to fly.

She was huffing and puffing when she finally she decided she might have kept the demons at bay for one more day, one more night. Maybe she'd be in a world of competition in her dreams tonight instead of hearing a young woman's blood-curdling screams. One more try, one more go. Then, when she was sure she could still do it perfectly, she'd stop.

What surprised her was the applause she heard at the end. She'd just landed her last pass, her arms up in the customary end position, presenting her perfect routine to the imaginary judges. She was flushed, sweating, her hair everywhere from the lack of hairspray and the abundance of wind through her tumbling. She was embarrassed.

"I didn't know you were a gymnast."

Emily tried for a smile, trying to keep the embarrassment from her face and the exhaustion from making her too gross to look at. She wished he'd waited until she'd had a shower. Then again, he probably would have missed her. She shrugged as her chest heaved and he approached. "I'm not."

His eyebrow arched elegantly. "It certainly didn't look like it."

She shrugged again, too out of breath still to really explain why she needed this place. "I shouldn't." She went for the water bottle by the wall, starting her own customary stretches for cool down. She'd be as sore as crazy tomorrow if she didn't stretch herself out after that kind of a work out.

She had no idea what had made him come looking for her. For that was what he would have to do to have found her. She was careful. This was something that was hers and hers alone. She didn't share. This was one of those crannies that she hid from her colleagues. He wasn't dressed in his suit, a welcome change. Instead, he wore sweatpants, trainers and an FBI-issue t-shirt. How like him.

It shouldn't have surprised him when he automatically moved to help her push her stretches further, but her breath hitched in her throat. "What brings you down here?" Conversation, that would distract her.

He, on the other hand, was not distracted from the muscles under his hands. The woman was flexible as hell and now he knew why. He'd seen her do some pretty complicated stretches during a few of their team spar sessions – a fun game Derek had developed for those interested. He now also understood how she found a way to always evade them and never be out of breath. "Coming to see if anyone was in for a fight."

"It was a bad one."

That went without saying. She winced as she rolled her shoulder, too tired to worry about the weakness it portrayed. He was concerned when she looked up. "Old injury," she promised. "Doesn't bug me in the field."

"But it bothers you here."

She nodded. "Of course it does. I put it through it's paces. Probably one too many handsprings for the shoulder to take."

"And you do this all the time?"

Emily shrugged, now uncomfortable with sharing such a private part of her life. "It's calming."

He raised an eyebrow.

"It's like when Derek goes to the gym and works himself until he can't move," Emily said, trying to find an equitable scenario. "That's calming to him."

"You do gymnastics."

She shrugged. "Not exactly part of the FBI handbook, but it's come in handy once or twice on cases."

"For the BAU?"

"St Louis," Emily admitted with another blush. "There was a guy that was hopping between fire escapes and things, down alleys… There was a bar. I strained my shoulder and was out of the field for two weeks, but it was worth it for that takedown."

It didn't surprise him that Emily had thrown herself into the chase. He'd seen her do it more than once. He was moving again without the conscious permission of his brain, turning her and pushing roughly into the muscles of her back. It was surprising how watching her twist and spin and flip on the floor had released some of the tension in his body. She was graceful, mind-boggling. He didn't feel the need to fight so acutely anymore.

She dropped her head forward, ruthlessly shoving the hyper-awareness to the back of her mind and simultaneously stretching muscles he wasn't kneading. He was good at it. She felt him take a step closer behind her, felt his breath on her neck the second before his mouth made contact with the back of her shoulder. Her entire body was suddenly on high alert, her legs tense, even if she managed to keep her back mostly relaxed.

This was new territory he was breaking, territory Emily wasn't sure she'd even known he could. To the extent of her knowledge they harboured a not-so-secret tolerance of each other. It was the living equivalent of the Golden Rule. Do unto others and all that. She had no idea what he was doing, but she did know her body's reaction and her body was asking for more.

Her skin was soft under his lips. Hotch had no idea what had inspired him to reach out to her, had no idea why he continued up the column of her neck to her earlobe, had no idea why his hands had softly migrated around her sides to splay across her stomach. He was holding her to him, giving her no escape, but she didn't seem to want to as she tilted her neck to the side. She was responding.

Lust rose in him, unbidden, but not entirely unwelcome. He wasn't often a slave to his own emotions or the urges that made him human, but it had been a long time since he'd felt like this. It had been a long time since he'd had anyone like this.

Emily couldn't make herself pull away. She knew it was wrong, knew that this was her supervisor, but she was tired and there hadn't been a man in a while that made her tingle the way he was. And she could feel those tingles all the way to her toes. Her body shivered, more from his ministrations than from the sweat drying on her body. She could feel his hands, hot and heavy against her abdomen as her own came up to cover them, to lace their fingers together.

The intimate touch shocked him. He'd expected her to push him away, to fall back on the ethical rules they were in the process of obliterating. Her resistance never came. It was a rush to his senses, her skin tasting salty under his teeth and lips and tongue. Her body was swaying against his, surprisingly relaxed. He eased up on his assault of her neck and shoulder, gauging her reaction.

And he wasn't disappointed. Her fingers clutched his, squeezing for an instant before she was facing him, hands held tightly in her own. Her eyes were what scared him, what made him nervous. They held a clear knowledge of what they were doing just under that film of lust he was counting on. She seemed to take a deep breath to center herself before saying anything.

"I don't know what we're doing," she said, voice almost a whisper. "But I'm not sure I want it to stop."

If there was ever a good time to bow out gracefully, this was it. They could both blame it on adrenaline, on exhaustion and he knew she'd never bring it up again. He was sure he liked that idea one bit and he wasn't sure he wanted to take the time to analyze why. What he did know was that whatever Emily was within the team, she was also an attractive woman, sexy, vibrant, compassionate, all things he'd noticed in the time since his divorce had been finalized.

"I'm not sure either," he admitted, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. "Where do we go from here?"

Despite his closeness and the soft brush of his fingertips against her cheekbone, down her neck and across her collar bones, Emily's mind was surprisingly clear. Maybe it was the shocking reality that it was her supervisor here, her team leader, and the complications and consequences could go further than that of a regular night. And yet, her gut told her that Hotch was too lupine to believe in or allow one-night stands. That in itself brought upa whole new lines of questions, 'what if's and terrifying prospects of an office filled with awkwardness.

Risk versus reward.

How much was she willing to risk to see if the payoff was any good?

Especially when she realized that whatever blatant attraction was currently racing through her blood was one that had probably always been there. She'd never, _ever_ acknowledged it, never thought twice about it with the exception of a few fleeting thoughts to her boss' more attractive features, It had been something completely dormant. It had to be. She didn't believe in love at first sight and they'd known each other too long for it to be lust at first sight.

"There's…" She didn't want to voice it out loud, to put a name to the massive barriers standing between them. Despite the fact that their emotional and personal barriers were the lowest they'd ever been between them, there was still the looming wall of the Bureau and all even the slightest push from either of them could send them absolutely reeling.

But then there was the way the blood was starting to hum in her veins, the tingle that shot off all of the nerves in her body. She wanted to shiver, to find some way to relieve herself of the pressure building within her. Her body wanted him but her mind didn't want the complications that came with him. He, apparently, had other plans entirely.

His hands slid down her arms, bracketing her hips in his palms. She couldn't seem to force her hands to stay still either. They'd started at his shoulders, made their way down until they rested very lightly just above his hipbones. It was enough of a barrier to keep him from pressing forward, pulling her flush against him while maintaining a slightly intimate touch. She didn't stop him when his fingers stroked the skin between her shirt and her shorts.

He knew what she was talking about, understood that the possible consequences of the blood pumping through his veins could be deadly for both of them. He wasn't sure he could stop, not with her so close, not with their walls down and the only thing standing between them the massive shadow of the Bureau. But there were other things he knew as well. He knew that no matter what happened between them tonight, things had been changed irrevocably. Even if they didn't go any further, even if either one of them pulled the plug now, there was no way he would be able to go back to the way they were. She'd seen too much for him to be able to effectively hide it now.

Emily's head fell forward, ponytail falling over her shoulder. Hotch could smell her shampoo, the light smell of roses that was more often than not overpowered by vanilla and lavender. His body moved for him, his lips making contact with that dark head. She sighed, her breath a hot cloud through the light cotton of his t-shirt. Then she was pulling away, her fingers trailing along his forearm until she grasped his hand in her own. She led him to the wall with her gym bag, sliding down the hard surface until she was on the floor. He followed her, unsure.

She smiled at him, hooking her pinkie with his pointer finger as her head rested back against the wall, eyes closed. "We can't," she said.

"I know."

"Even if…" she trailed off, unsure whether she wanted to open herself so completely to him. "Even if the Bureau wasn't there…"

Hotch wrapped his whole hand around hers, watching her, understanding. Even if the Bureau wasn't there, they would never be sure if the emotion between them stemmed from true attraction or if it was as much the emotional torture of the case as the feelings they evoked in the other. If anything was going to come of this, he didn't want her worrying about whether his emotions were real or a result of a case. He couldn't ask that of her. He wouldn't.

* * *

**_Before anyone says anything, I know that Emily doing gymnastics as a way to cool down and to still be in shape at the age she is, is a highly unlikely scenario. Consider it AU if you have to._**

_**This was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but it was starting to be epic length and I discovered there were different things I wanted to do... It's not meant to be long, but we'll see where it goes. This does, however, take almost a very back seat to the other stories I've got on the go, depending on my inspiration. Such is life, my friends.**_

**_Reviewing is highly appreciated!_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Stuck in the Middle**

--

Hotch's hyper awareness extended into the office, much to his own discomfort. He'd been able to shove it to the back of his mind and completely pretend it didn't exist until a week ago. A week ago, after the case from hell (ironic, considering almost every case they worked was the case from hell) he'd followed her to a gymnasium and watched her do something he had most definitely not expected. And damn if it hadn't been one of the biggest turn ons he'd ever experienced.

Emily Prentiss had once been a world-class gymnast.

He had to admit, he'd gotten a rush from finding out something so private, but what had really gotten him was the intimate nature of their interactions afterwards. He wasn't sure if it was just the after-effects of her exhausting work out and his natural response or if he quite simply hadn't been paying attention to the way they fed off each other. Opening up to her, being vulnerable, had come surprisingly easy. He'd taken strength from that night and found himself refreshed the next morning.

In that week, he found himself watching her more, leaning against the back of her chair in their morning debrief meetings and even dragging her fingers along the back of her shoulders. And that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that she'd tended to star in some explicit dreams since that night, dreams where he'd used that flexibility to his own end. It was a glorious, satisfying end to say the least.

So it became so difficult as the week dragged on and there were no cases to focus his attention on to keep himself under wraps. He wanted to drag her into his office and have her. He wanted to feel her again, the Bureau be damned. And he was close to saying it to her. But she was acting like a skittish horse when the team was around and understandably so. But he really couldn't help himself.

He thought their case would give him a chance to re-evaluate. He figured it would give him something else to focus on, something else to see at night. But he was so incredibly wrong. Three days into their case and still, all he could see was _her_. And he quite thoroughly blamed the local police force. He wasn't blind. He knew his team was full of not only highly intelligent minds, but also knew they were a team of attractive women. So it shouldn't have affected him when, since JJ was noticeably pregnant, the attention of the admittedly attractive local detective lingered on her.

She was just coming out of her hotel room, small duffle bag in hand as he was almost stalking towards her room. He'd seen that duffle bag before, on the floor of a Quantico gym. His body ignited as he remembered that night, as he remembered being that close to her with personal barriers demolished between them. He saw something twitch in her face, saw the split second pause of her step and _knew_.

"Hey," she greeted softly, her fingers playing with the zipper on her bag.

"Where are you going?"

Her nostrils flared at the unintentionally sharp tone. "Gym. I made a few calls to find one…"

She looked embarrassed despite the little spark in her eyes that told him his anger was unappreciated. He knew she hated cases where she was dealing with personal as well as professional and knew that the attention of the local detective was difficult for her to handle. He knew she wanted a chance to get her mental stability back for the next day of work. "May I watch?"

Her right eyebrow could have probably hit her hairline if it could. "You want to watch?" He'd come to stand right in front of her now, and her attention honed in on him and him alone. She had been hyper-aware of him over the very little time that had passed and it seemed to sharpen even more as they spent the work week in the same office.

"Do you mind?" Hotch watched Emily consider the suggestion. He knew it wouldn't be the first time he'd watched and wondered if he'd ever get the opportunity again. The fact that it had found some odd way of calming him was in the back of his mind.

"I guess not," she said finally, absently chewing on her lip. "In that?"

He looked down at his suit, favouring her with a wry smile. "Do you mind waiting while I change?"

Emily's smile was shy, but she nodded, closing her eyes as he brushed past her. It was scary how completely things had changed throughout the course of a week and a half. Instead of being able to brush the situation off as a slip of their professional demeanours, she'd been forced to see it less as a slip and more as a completely new chapter in their relationship.

And he hadn't given her a second to think of anything else. There hadn't been a single night she'd had a nightmare, but she had definitely been forced to endure a cold shower the large majority of her mornings because of the images that had burned themselves into her eyelids. She remembered the feeling of his hands on her body, the soft touch of his lips across her neck and shoulders. She remembered wanting to almost slap herself upside the head when she brought up the Bureau. Because he'd all but promised to burn her alive in those few touches.

Nevertheless, Emily knew that the Bureau was all Hotch had. He'd given up his family for the BAU and she wasn't about to put him in a situation where he'd have to make that choice again. But she wasn't sure she'd be able to push him away again, not when her dreams were pushing her so close to the edge of simply ripping off his clothes.

The touch on her arm startled her, but the way it followed down to her hand let her know _exactly_ who was now beside her. She pushed herself off the wall, lifting her bag in the process, his hand still in hers. The only words in the car were her quiet directions to him from the passenger's seat and there was nothing said between them as they made their way into the building. She was already dressed in her gym clothes and started stripping down almost the second she got through the doors.

Hotch felt himself salivating as her sweatshirt came off. This tank top was gloriously red, the shorts the same black spandex she'd used a week and a half before. Her body was, for all intents and purposes already on display for him and he'd have to be as cold-blooded as a reptile to not react to her. But he was only there to watch and so that iron-clad control once again served him well as she started to stretch.

Emily turned to him, feeling his eyes on her body. "Want to do me a favour?"

"Sure."

She most certainly needed a minute or she wasn't going to end up on the beam at all, as was her original plan. "Can you grab that springboard for me?" She pointed to the board in the corner. He moved off as she finished her stretching routine and Emily had to take a deep breath to center herself. She was too focused on Hotch, on the memory of his touch the last time they'd been in a gym. She did a few handsprings on the floor to get warmed up, trying to keep herself as close to a straight line as possible.

She glanced over as she came up from the ground. He'd pulled the springboard over, in her line and lined up with the end of the beam. She grinned as he stepped away and took a run at it, bouncing herself into a quick tuck to get up on the beam. She wobbled, out of practice on that particular mount, but managed not to fall. Then, her full attention went to the routine, to the handsprings that would take her across the beam, to the jumps that did the same.

Then she made a massive mistake, and it wasn't a technical one. On the other hand, the mistake was simple. When she landed on the beam, dropping down to straddle it, the wood flat against her stomach, she made the mistake of looking at him as she pushed herself up. His eyes were almost black, his muscles tensed as if to spring. And he did because the next thing she knew, he'd literally pulled her off the beam and into his arms.

Then his mouth was on hers, demanding a response from her immediately. Her hands came up to frame his face, palms on his cheeks, holding her to him and giving as good as she got. There was nothing gentle about this first kiss, nothing that spoke of anything other than intense arousal and attraction between them. His hands weren't idle in the slightest, slipping almost immediately to her lower back, lifting her tank top so he could spread her hands over her skin.

Emily moaned into his mouth, her gymnastics completely forgotten in the heat of his body pressed tightly against hers. Even her original trepidation about doing this and then going back to her job had been so completely wiped from her system it wasn't funny. If asked, she probably couldn't remember her own name at this point. _His_ on the other hand, was something completely different. It was all she could breathe out when he pulled his mouth from hers and attacked her collarbone and throat.

Control was no longer a word in his vocabulary. Her skin was soft and tasted fantastic under his mouth. She was so incredibly responsive, gasping, moaning, whimpering under his hands and mouth. His hands slid under the back of her shorts, cupping her ass and bringing her flush with his hips. She could feel him, his hardness against her stomach, and arched into the contact, moaning. She was going to lose her mind.

His mouth trailed downwards, his hands hoisting her onto the beam behind her. Emily went willingly, wrapping her lean legs around his hips to feel him pressed intimately against her. His mouth was at her chest now, skimming along the edge of her tank on the swells of her breasts. Hotch's breath was coming short and sharp against her skin as he virtually devoured her, His hands, still in her shorts, encouraged movement against him. She more than willingly followed his encouragement, rocking against him, feeling him through her shorts and panties.

"God, Emily," he breathed against her skin. His hands skimmed under the front of her shirt. He couldn't help smirking when her stomach muscles jumped under his fingertips. She was wearing a bra, though he paid it very little heed as he pressed a thumb against her nipple. She arched into him with a low groan, bringing his head up to his him savagely. It was easy for him to rock her against him, to push further into her, to feel her start to shake around him. He swallowed her squeal as her entire body tensed around him, her legs locking. Nevertheless, he pulled away quickly as he worked her through her peak, etching her face into his memory.

It wasn't like he wanted, he wanted to be inside her, to feel her around him. But he knew that trying to make the transition, going from here to the hotel, gave them both time to cool down, time to think about what they were doing. The last thing he wanted to do was think. With her taste still on his tongue and the scent of vanilla and roses in his nostrils, thinking was definitely the last thing he wanted to do.

Because thinking lead to consequences, consequences of them together like this. He didn't want to think of the complications. He didn't want to think of the FBI or anyone's reputation, though hers would be his first concern. He wanted to concentrate on her. He wanted those breathy moans, the little whimper she made 

when he nipped at her collarbone. He wanted to see her face when he pushed inside her for the first time. He didn't want her to think about the Bureau, about beloved jobs they were risking.

Still, Hotch hadn't moved since her climax and it had given Emily enough time to get some of her wits back. She still couldn't think completely straight, and she was definitely not sure if her knees would actually hold her body weight. Her brain, however, was most definitely at it's base functioning abilities, and for her usual IQ, it was impressive in itself. And she had no idea what this meant.

They'd deliberately stayed away from this a week and a half ago. They had deliberately stepped away from each other, their thoughts on their jobs and on the policies in place to keep the Bureau running smoothly. Tonight, they'd thrown all caution to the wind and it had been a fantastic wind indeed. She'd seen Hotch focus on cases, focus his energy, his attention and his intensity, and she'd imagined all of that focused on her and her alone. Reality simply and totally surpassed fantasy. There was only one remaining question:

Now what?


	3. Chapter 3

**Bridging the Gaps**

--

Three weeks.

To most people, three weeks probably didn't seem like that long. To Emily Prentiss it seemed like an eternity. It had been three weeks since their case had ended. Three weeks since he'd accompanied her to a gym by their hotel and watched her practice a bar routine. It had been three weeks since he'd yanked her off of that beam and made her see some pretty serious stars.

Then it went cold turkey.

If they'd talked about it, discussed how wrong it was… if he'd given her _something_ she probably wouldn't be in so much agony. She probably wouldn't jump every time he brushed against her shoulder – though he'd started doing it long before That Night – or feel a blush rising in her cheeks every time their eyes met. She had no idea how he was feeling. He'd been sending her mixed signals, mixing the touching with the lack of anything else.

So she sat by herself looking at the equipment around her. It wasn't by far the first night she'd sat like that. At work, she had something to occupy herself. She had paperwork, she had peers. She could always count on Garcia for some good girl-time gossip and JJ was always more than willing to share the newest tidbit about her relationship with Will, even if it inadvertently tore Emily's heart a little bit each time.

JJ had found love in a detective. Emily couldn't keep her mind off of her unattainable boss. How cruel could life get?

She'd known that leaving that gym was a bad idea. She'd known that by leaving they were going to cut new wounds without really realizing it. She knew that going back to their cold and empty hotel beds was going to put up a wall between them, but what else could she do? The team was there, on all sides of them, and the last thing she wanted was for them to know she was screwing her boss.

It had thrown her off completely. She couldn't look at the beam, couldn't think about the floor. They brought up memories that were starting to feel downright painful. She hadn't done a gymnastic routine in three weeks, the longest she'd ever gone. She'd managed a few handsprings, a few standing tucks, just to keep herself limber, but she hadn't run a full routine since That Night. She wasn't sure what was killing her more, that he'd ruined the only place she felt completely comfortable or that she hadn't gotten a chance to experience the full connection.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, finding new resolve. She'd do a routine today, even if she burst into tears half way through. So she went for her bag, looking for whatever jumped out at her first. And what did was what would be the worst for her.

An impulse purchase almost six months ago had been a new pair of bar grips. She didn't do the uneven bars. She wasn't sure if she still could. It put way too much strain on an injured shoulder. She grabbed them out of her bag and headed over to the apparatus, strapping them on in the process. Maybe the pain in her body would drown out the emotions in her. It had worked before. It had been what the floor and the beam were for. But she didn't feel like they were _hers_ anymore, and until she could face them without thinking of _him_ she wasn't going to face them at all.

She surprised herself as she chalked up her hands and started swinging. It came back to her almost naturally, as if she'd been doing it every day of her life. She'd been good at the bars, gotten too overconfident one day and blown her shoulder. The release skills started simple, her routine completely improvised as she went along. It wasn't perfect, her gymnastics rarely were these days, but it was something. She worked her way through the routine anyway, even to the dismount. When she fell on her butt because she hadn't landed properly, she stayed there, falling back with her eyes closed.

The feeling of someone sitting beside her came first. Then the smell. _Him_.

"I thought you didn't do the bars."

Inane conversation was the last thing she needed at the moment, but diplomacy and training kicked in faster than angry, cynical sarcasm could. "I don't usually."

"Why did you?"

She didn't hear concern in his voice. She couldn't have. If he was concerned, he would have addressed things between them long ago. She pushed herself up with a sigh, not even glancing at him, taking some of her anger out on the straps of the bar grips. "I wanted something different."

His hand was cold and wet when he touched her shoulder, and she couldn't stop the streak of worry. She faced him, in his drenched-suit glory.

"Is it raining?"

"Cats and dogs."

She'd never understood that particular phrase. "But you're here." Confusion would be an understatement in trying to describe how she was feeling.

Hotch, on the other hand, felt totally out of control. He'd been stupid, that much he knew. He should have talked to her right away, should have used the opportunity in the car to explain what was going on, why he'd done what he did. On the other hand, he'd been silent. He hadn't touched her since that night, too afraid of that all-consuming lust-attraction-emotion-_whatever_

taking over again to allow himself that. Instead, they'd become subconscious. A brush here, a tap there, eye contact that never held. She turned away every time.

"I wasn't sure you'd be here," he admitted softly. His hand was still on her shoulder, but he didn't want to move it for fear of scaring her and losing her. For if there was one thing he'd realized in the past three weeks it was that Emily Prentiss was one of those once-in-a-lifetime women. She was a woman who understood what he did and who had been willing to turn down her own job and play politics so long as he got to continue doing what he loved. She wouldn't pass dirt on him. He'd cajoled her back into the unit.

The statement took her by surprise. "Why not?"

"This is the first time I've seen you in here in three weeks."

It took Emily a moment to absorb those words. "You've been coming here every day?"

When she said it like that, it sounded borderline-obsessive. "I needed to talk to you on neutral ground."

"And you really think this constitutes neutral ground?" she bit out as she finally moved away from his touch to put her grips away.

She wasn't going to make it easy for him and Hotch could understand that. He wasn't sure he deserved easy. "Do you have a better idea?"

She didn't, not that it mattered. She took a deep breath, willing herself to let him speak. "I've been here every day," she said finally. "This is the first day I could bring myself to do a routine."

She almost slapped herself when the words came out of her mouth and she caught the look on his face. The last thing she'd intended was to say that. It was had enough to realize it for herself without having to handle someone else. And what on earth was wrong with her? Every time he got close, she spilled a secret, let him that little bit further into who she was as a person. Hadn't he already proven that was a mistake?

"I'm sorry."

The words made her arch a wary eyebrow. "Okay."

"It's not okay."

She knew what was coming next. She'd expected it. This was where the Bureau came in, where he spoke about their jobs, about their reputations about how That Night had been a massive mistake and loss of control on his part. Emily tried to fortify herself for the blow.

"I'm sorry for not talking to you."

Not quite. "It's okay," she said flippantly. "Water under the bridge."

"Obviously not."

"I beg your pardon?"

He ran a hand through his wet hair. "If it was water under the bridge you'd be able to do the gymnastics you love."

It terrified her that he'd pegged her problem so well and so quickly. In fact, it _hurt_. Still, she tried to play it down, shrugging as she turned to make a show of packing up her things.

Hotch wouldn't take it, he spun her around, earnest eyes meeting hers. "I owe you more than I gave you, Emily."

Her first name caught her too off guard to move away from him. "You don't owe me anything," she managed to whisper. The last time he'd said her name they'd been in a completely different situation, completely different emotions racing through them.

He growled, actually growled, low in his throat. "I want you, Emily. I haven't exactly made a secret of that."

That much was true, but he hadn't exactly done a great job of showing it either. She'd felt tossed aside for three weeks, what was she supposed to do with that? Still, that intensity that had brought her to a peak three weeks prior was shining in his eyes again. Yet there was also turmoil, confusion. It took Emily by surprise. The Aaron Hotchner she knew was rarely, if ever, confused.

"I can't get you out of my head," he said, voice just above a whisper, cracking as he spoke. "I see you every day at work and all I can think of is what happened and what _didn't_."

His emphasis on 'didn't' had her shivering under his hands. What _hadn't_ happened between them had played over and over again in her head, in her dreams, in her fantasies. Her mind was reeling, trying to absorb his touch, his words. If there was one person she would ever consider as someone who could compartmentalize better than she could it would be him. She took a deep breath, trying to strengthen her nerves. "What do you want?"

He was moving closer without realizing it, backing her against the wall. Her body was warm, the skin on her shoulder just as soft as it had been that night and in his dreams every night since. But he couldn't let himself lose control, not yet, not _here_. He'd done enough damage to her here. The words came out of his mouth without the conscious permission of his brain.

"I want to say screw the Bureau," he whispered, pressing her body between his and the wall so he could whisper hotly in her ear. "I want to take you home and make you forget your own name. I want to roll you underneath me, feel you around me. I want you."

It had required almost too much control on her part to not jump him right there. She hoped it didn't show in her eyes. "We can't."

"Screw the Bureau, Em," he said, managing to sound calm, almost logical. "There's nothing in the Bureau that could mean more than this."

She arched a delicate eyebrow. "Sex is worth more than the BAU? I have a hard time believing that."

Hotch growled again, pushing her back into the wall with his frustration. "Is that what this is?"

"Isn't it?"

He never realized how frustrating it was to get a question in answer to a question until she did it. "If it was only about sex I wouldn't have walked away the first time."

She had to give him that. They'd both walked away from each other and _known_ things were different. "Then what is it about?"

He sighed. "A chance to connect. To have someone there to share the hell with."

When he presented it like that it most certainly sounded attractive. "And the Bureau?"

"Screw the Bureau," he said again, unable to resist any longer. His mouth met hers roughly, thrilling when she responded. He pulled away and came back, gentler this time, encouraging her response. He felt her fist his hands in the open coat at his waist. Eventually, he pulled away from her mouth, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead and temple before looking at her. Her eyes were glazed, her lips swollen. God, he wanted her.

"Hotch…" She wanted to stay right where she was, cradled in his arms. But if he didn't get out of those clothes soon he'd probably catch a cold and she'd be right there with him with the little she wore now. She took a deep breath, meeting his eyes. "Let's get out of here. This isn't the place to… to deal with all of this."

She was right. "Your place or mine?" He thrilled when her eyes widened. Did she really think she was going to get away with just a kiss? The kiss told him she wanted him to and Aaron Hotchner was an opportunist at heart. He wasn't about to let her take time to reconsider or come up with a better argument.

"Yours," she said. "You need to get out of your wet clothes."

He wasn't sure he liked the idea that she could just get up and leave, but she made a good point. He was starting to get cold.

* * *

**_This was supposed to be one chapter, but then it got a mile long. So it's going to be 2. Which is ironic considering the story itself was originally meant to be one. Who wants to sign me up for rehab? 'Cause I'm seriously addicted to writing this stuff._**


	4. Chapter 4

They had to make the drive separately, though Emily had no idea where his apartment was. He couldn't stay in the house. It was painful. He'd given it to Haley in the divorce anyway. Still, there was comfort in having to lead the way, ensuring her car was behind him at each turn, each traffic light. He got out of his car and waited for her to do the same before leading her up to the complex. His hand found hers, lacing her fingers with his as they boarded the elevator.

She had no idea what she was doing. Absolutely none. Every rational part of her was screaming for her to turn around, go home, forget this was even happening. Not only did it feel too good to be true, but the whole situation was incredibly surreal. She was about to walk into his apartment to talk about why their relationship wasn't just about sex. Never, in a million years, would she think of this happening to her.

Hotch kept a hold of her hand as he used the other to unlock the door, pushing it open and almost pulling her in behind him. He wasn't about to even give her thirty seconds to escape, or at least no more time than he had to. He was pretty sure Emily would all but physically change his clothes for him simply out of concern. That had potential, now that he thought about it. He heard her take a deep breath.

"Go, get changed," she encouraged. She saw the apprehension in his eyes and managed a smile in amusement. "I'll be here, I promise."

He didn't take Emily's promises lightly. He'd never known her to make a promise when she didn't mean it. So he let her go, moving off into his bedroom. Emily looked around the apartment with a grin. She'd bet that he'd had help decorating the place. It was a bachelor pad, dark woods, dark furniture, beige walls. There were no pillows on the couch, so there hadn't been a woman's touch in the slightest, not that she particularly blamed him. Haley had done a number on his heart and psyche when she left.

It really didn't take him long to change and she had a feeling it was partially fear of her leaving that had him almost rushing through the process. She tried to play calm, an easy smile. "Do you own anything else?"

He was dressed in sweatpants and an FBI t-shirt. Hotch looked down at himself, smiling ruefully. "Well…"

She shook her head. "I'm just teasing."

Silence fell and Emily found herself playing with her fingers in anxiousness. "Look, I… I don't know what's going on here. I…" She sighed. This most definitely wasn't the time to start hiding. She wasn't sure there was even a point, not with the way their relationship had changed. "You said you wanted me."

He took a deep breath. A nervous and vulnerable Emily Prentiss was not one he was used to. He was used to quick wit, fast thinking and razor-sharp intelligence. He was used to professionalism, to a woman who never broke down, who never showed emotion. Then his mind pointed something out. Wasn't that simply Agent Prentiss? What did he really know about _Emily_? "I do." He'd made that perfectly obvious he was sure.

"I can't tell you I don't," she admitted softly. "I can't tell you that I'm not attracted to you, that… that what you said to me in the gym wasn't incredibly appealing-"

"Then don't." He stepped closer to her, the primal part of him screaming in triumph when she didn't back away. She stayed where she was, arms wrapped around herself. Vulnerable. Hotch didn't like it one bit.

"There's so much at stake," she argued, her eyes fearful. She'd never expected to have to deal with this. She'd ruthlessly stamped down attraction before, specifically attraction to him. She was having a hard time understanding why it was so difficult now. She'd fought so hard for her place on the team and mere attraction wasn't enough to pull her away.

But was it mere attraction? She remembered the day she'd discovered the transfer had gone through. She recalled shivering in remembrance of the man who would now be her supervisor. She remembered their conversation in his office and seeing him again, very little different from the first time she'd spotted him running security clearances for her mother's staff. Something had sparked in her then too. So had this simply been a long time coming? Had Haley simply been a barrier that had inadvertently and unwittingly bowed out gracefully?

There was a distinct difference in the way she handled him now. Gone were the days of simple tolerance, obliterated in a night of connection that had probably been an absolute fluke. She'd opened herself to him before, without really being conscious of what she was doing. She hadn't realized that it had, quite simply, always been easy to open herself to him. So she had to be insane to not welcome a return of her attraction, didn't she?

When she zoned back into him, he was right in front of her, reaching out to brush his fingers over her cheek. She couldn't resist him and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

"We've thrown caution to the wind before." And he'd almost regretted it. He didn't regret having her in the slightest, but he did regret not giving her the choice herself and he most definitely regretted not being inside her. He was determined to let her come to him this time, determined to convince her that no matter what the Bureau tried to pull, the potential fire between them was worth more. And it was definitely fire.

That much was true. It was difficult to fight something like that when he was so close. They'd thrown caution to the wind before and she'd just about melted into a puddle at his feet. The beam and his body had been her only support. It had been a long time since she'd felt like that, felt her body responding with the gentlest touches against areas she'd never thought of as erogenous. She closed her eyes, his hand trailing down to cup the side of her neck. She waited for his mouth to touch hers, waited for him. It took her a few minutes to realize he wasn't going to make that move.

And it was in her hands. She shivered. He wanted her to make the decision. He'd made his wants clear – extremely clear – and now, it was her turn. Her hand brushed up his arm, slipping in to cup his cheek and pull him forward. She wasn't a bloody saint.

Hotch felt relief sweep his system as she gave in. His arm wrapped around her back, pulling her flush against him. The cold that had seeped into his bones from the rain was quickly replaced by the heat she generated in him. This time, he wouldn't be denied. Behind closed doors, away from everything, he was going to take what he wanted until neither of them could move. She fit against him so easily and so snugly that he had no idea how he'd missed it before. His hands went down her side, under her sweatshirt and tank top, pulling away for the thirty seconds it took to whip them both over her head.

She shivered at the contrast between the gently passionate way he kissed her, touched her and the rough way he virtually ripped her clothes from her body. She couldn't decide what she wanted to do, whether she wanted to knock him to the floor and have him or if she wanted it to be sweet, like his kisses. He made the decision for her, yanking her up and against him roughly, pushing on her ass to lift her into the air. Emily went with a happy squeal, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as she bent to kiss him as thoroughly as she could.

The path to his bedroom was bumpy to say the least. She giggled as he backed himself into the wall, giving them both stability for the few moments it took to get his shirt off, then further down the hall for her bra, her head fell back as he latched onto a breast, kissed around then in, suckling, licking, as his hands pushed her against him. Her fingers linked around his neck, back arching into him, pushing her shoulders against the wall for support. His hands went up her back, pulling her towards him to get her off the wall.

He groaned as her fingers slid between them, slipping under the edge of the elastic of his sweatpants. He needed to get her to his bed and he needed to do it soon. Heat swamped his blood, feeling her nails scratch gently up his sides. She wanted them between their bodies, against the sparse hair she could feel against her breasts. She settled for the hair at the nape of his neck as he plundered her mouth again, stifling both of their moans.

Emily squeaked into his mouth, pulling away with laughter as he dropped her on the bed. He followed her quickly, nudging her up towards the pillows. She wiggled awkwardly underneath him and it took him a minute to realize she was kicking off her socks. Thank goodness for a woman that could somehow hold onto thought enough to remember them. All he could think about was her smell and her skin.

"God, I want you," he said, leaning down to nibble at her earlobe. "I want to take you to dinner." He placed an open-mouthed kiss at the corner of her jaw. "I want to know that everyone in the room is watching, knowing that you're with me." He kissed down her jaw to her chin. "I want to bring you home and lie you here, peel your clothes off slowly."

The thought of it was making her hotter. She wasn't sure he was even aware he was talking. "Please," she whimpered.

"But tonight… tonight I'm going to figure out where you like to be touched. I'm going to find every part of your body that makes you moan. I'm going to discover what makes you blush, what makes you shake and what makes you scream my name."

Jesus, he was _killing_ her. If he hadn't convinced her with his kisses down the hallway, that would have melted any and all resistance. "Hotch, stop talking," she breathed. Emily yanked his head down to hers, shoving his sweatpants and underwear down his body, hooking her feet in the fabric to shove them further down his legs. She wrapped her leg around his hip and pushed.

He was taken by complete surprise by her strength, surprised by her ability to flip him onto his back, straddling his waist. She ground down on him, pressure and friction that stimulated her as much as it stimulated him. Good God it was _good_. Her hands were everywhere but where he wanted them, though it didn't matter much. The juncture of her thighs, the friction of the fabric wasn't as good as he was sure the actual heat of her would be, but it was relief for now. And the picture of her above him, naked to the waist would fuel his fantasies for nights to come, he was sure.

There were hands, lips, and grinding bodies, and she was still wearing pants, a thing that bothered him. He wanted her as naked as he was. She seemed perfectly content to let him roll them again, helped him by lifting her hips as his fingers hooked into her yoga pants. She almost laughed when he groaned at her layers, the gasped as he all but ripped her shorts down her legs, quickly followed by her panties.

Then he was on top of her, pinning her arms above her head with one hand on her wrists. He met her eyes, watching them darken. She pushed up against the leg he had between her thighs. Skin on skin was something she had not been prepared for. Her breath came in short pants, her body arching her towards him, an offer he took willingly, latching onto a breast again. But that wasn't where she wanted him. Her body was winding tighter and tighter. She wanted to release some of that tension.

Hotch, however, wanted to take his time. He had her here, underneath him, and he wanted to make sure he took his time. He wanted to imprint himself on her, make her think of nothing but him. Her eyes were dark and blazing when he looked up at her, impassioned and almost desperate. He was losing his control to see her under him like that, curvy, sexy, aroused.

"Hotch…"

"Mmm?" He balanced himself precariously on the arm holding hers and his knees so his hand could trace up her stomach to cup a breast. His thumb flicked across her hard nipple, evoking a loud groan.

Emily had to take a minute to remember what she wanted to say. "Please…"

His laugh was low and surprisingly dark. "Please what?"

She actually cried out when he removed his hand from her breast. She struggled under his hands, wanting her hands on his body. She wanted to touch him, to bring him to the edge like she was. But Hotch was stronger than she was and held her down, one hand on her hip, one still on her hands. She was helpless under him, exactly the way he wanted.

"What do you want?"

The words were whispered hotly in her ear and Emily whimpered. "God, Hotch, touch me, _please_."

He chuckled in her ear, the hand on her hip lifting, skimming to trace inside her thigh. She moaned and threw back her head. He was smirking. "You're pretty when you beg," he breathed at the same time his forefinger touched her clit.

And she was gone. Her body contracted, her breath choked and all she could manage was to hiss out his name as her body reminded her how to breathe. He'd sent her over the crest, but there was still an empty feeling inside her. He'd let go of her hands now, willing to let her play too. She pulled him to her roughly, attacking his mouth with her own, expressing the passion still flowing through her blood. He responded in kind, not giving her an inch in their battle.

But Emily had a secret weapon. She closed her fist around him, feeling him hard and hot for the first time. It made her shiver pleasantly and kicked the burning ember he'd left up. She wanted him inside her. Soon. Hotch seemed to understand. He reached for the bedside table, and the protection he'd stashed there after That Night. He'd always planned to have her here eventually, he'd just never been sure the best way to go about it.

She was the one to rip open the package and roll the condom on him and he'd have died right there without iron control. As it was, he had to pin her wrists down again to give himself enough time to settle between her splayed thighs. Then came that gloriously slow, hot push. She almost killed him when she clenched around him. Emily moaned loudly, eyes falling closed. Why had she _not_ wanted to do this again? She most certainly couldn't remember now.

He started moving, slowly at first, waiting until she matched his rhythm with her own thrusts. Then he changed the angle, sliding deeper inside, stroking zones inside her body that made her see stars, while grinding his pelvic bone down on her at the same time. She was losing her mind, the only thing she could focus on was the feel of him inside her, around her. All she could smell, taste, touch, see was him and what a fantastic feeling it was. Her hands gripped his back as his anchored her hips, their mouths meeting briefly every once in a while. He increased the pace slowly, building, watching her, concentrating on her.

Her second climax was not nearly as loud as her first. She could feel the second one coming, could probably countdown to probably the exact second it was over. Then he surprised them both by following her almost immediately, thrusting erratically and sending another orgasmic wave through her every time. Finally, spent and exhausted, they lay there, Hotch still on top of her, attempting to hold his weight on his forearms. She actually moaned in disappointment when he pulled out and moved to the bathroom.

He came back and slid under the covers, holding them for her to crawl under too. She wasn't leaving tonight. He'd only just begun. He wanted more from her and there were things they would need to discuss, but with her body right there, exhaustion creeping through his hormone cluttered brain and blood, he knew it could wait until morning. So, he turned on his side, reaching out for her hand. He saw a small smile crawl over her face at the gesture, then watched her expression turn shy.

"Can I stay?" she asked quietly, nervously.

His heart jumped, starting a double beat he'd just calmed. "Please," he replied. "Please stay."

Her smile was glorious as it spread across her face and she hunkered down further into the pillows. His hand was still in hers, their eyes locked, though she could tell he was ready for sleep. She pulled their linked hands over, pressing a kiss to his hand. "Good night Aaron."

He smiled back, leaning over to nuzzle her cheek and kiss her gently. "Good night, Emily."


End file.
